Midnight Reflections
by Queen Shnoogleberry
Summary: Well another angstyslashie fic... don't like, DONT READ! Watson crawls into bed with Holmes one night, but falls asleep, what will the morning hold for him? Pain or joy? HW slash


What ever case it was on, both hardly cared when they took the time to remember. Sherlock Holmes was sharing a two bed hotel room with Dr. John Watson, though the only sign of that was the second suitcase.

Watson was seated at the small table one evening, waiting for the return of his friend. He passed the time daydreaming dangerous thoughts that he had confided in no one, not even his closest friend. His thoughts were on torturous desires that had been plaguing him since they had begun to live together. Women had begun to bore the doctor; the man with whom he was thrust into constant adventure was a fascination to him, in a rather taboo sense.

His head fell forward onto the table and his arms dangled at his sides as a realization hit him. His fantasies were getting far more vivid as well as passionate than before. He could no longer claim hat it was a mere passing fancy, for he knew now that he loved the other man. Also, he felt a heavy lust for the detective. Knowing now his true feelings, it would be next to impossible to keep them from him; the only solution was a painful one, to slowly break away from him.

Having made this decision, he poured himself a generous shot of brandy from the hip flask in his suitcase and braced himself for Sherlock's return.

He had not long to wait, Holmes was back within the hour. He was, however, exhausted and went straight to bed.

Watson, again waited, this time for the detective to fall asleep. It did not take long, twenty minutes or so. He then walked over to the bedside. Holmes's form was visible in the dim light. "Exquisite…" Watson whispered. He stood there for an hour or more, just staring at the sleeping form of his friend. After a time, he decided he must try it, if he were to move away soon, he would need to satisfy his curiosity first. Hesitantly he lifted the corner of the covers and slipped off his shoes. He climbed in the bed next to the other man.

He intended to only stay for a few seconds, but the feeling was so perfect that he unwillingly gave into the forces that had exhausted him for months. Holmes's body beside his seemed natural and rather exquisite.

He awoke slowly, feeling well rested. He looked beside himself and saw the sleeping form of his friend and biographer, bathed in the pale light of dawn. He smiled, wondering if the other man had been sleepwalking or if the doctor had another reason for sharing a bed with him. He rose and dressed silently. He left the room without making a sound.

Watson slept until mid afternoon. When he awoke, he at first felt well rested, then the realization of what happened the night before set in and he began to panic when he realized that his friend must hate him. He changed his cloths and awaited the return of Holmes and the demise of their friendship.

Holmes returned towards evening. "My dear Watson… We really must talk…"

It was the use of the phrase of endearment and the sincere tone of his friend's voice that caused the doctor to breathe easily for the first time since awakening. "Anything you wish, my… dear Holmes…"

The detective sat down at the table beside the doctor. "Just what happened last night, and no lies, as it'll prove worse for you."

"Holmes I-" His breathing hitched and he was humiliated to find his vision getting blurry with tears.

Sherlock placed his hand on John's shoulder and handed him his handkerchief. "Take your time, just be honest."

"I… I love you…" He gave in to his tears, expecting the other man to push him away and hurl insults at him. Holmes said nothing, but he seized the doctor's other shoulder and turned him towards himself. Totally clueless on how to comfort the other he settled for awkwardly patting his head and drying his tears with the handkerchief. "You have no idea how attractive you are, do you? You have no idea the Hell I've been in trying to decide whether or not to risk telling you…"

His hand drifted to the other's chin. He lifted it so they were eye to eye. "I do know… I imagine we were in similar Hells…" with infinite gentleness he brought their faces together. Watson was startled at first, but he soon found his old skill with lovers and within seconds, Sherlock was at his mercy. Though he had a more powerful personality, he had no experience and for the first time, until he learned, he would have to seek a subservient role. It was only when the doctor tried to lead him to the bed that he broke away. "No… too many people… we must wait until we are home." He gasped between heavy breaths.

"Well when will that be?"

"There is a train in an hour and a half. We just have time to pack and eat before leaving. We will be back on Baker Street by eleven."

"If we're late Holmes…" Watson shocked himself with the feral tone in his voice.

"We won't be. I'm as keen as you are…"

They arrived back at Baker Street as planed, though they were incapable of keeping their hands off each other during the train ride. They thanked the heavens for the locks and curtains on compartment doors. Both men were careful to keep their clothes on, however their heads and necks were each ravaged.

Watson led Holmes by the hand to his room. Though it was an extra flight of stairs, he felt that if he were to be dominant he would have the other man in his room, his territory. When Holmes finally succeeded in overpowering him, their destination would change. The detective was far too helplessly aroused to notice a thing. He willingly climbed the stairs, pushing against his lover. However, when they arrived and Watson opened the door, he hesitated.

"What is it?"

"I… I really shouldn't… I have work-"

"No you don't, you finished the case and you were complaining yesterday that it was your only case for a week and a half… Is something wrong?"

The detective shrunk back more. "No… I just-"

Watson realized the problem. "This is your first time, isn't it?"

Holmes said nothing, but he continued to shrink away. Watson brought him back with a heavy kiss.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you, I swear. I love you."

Shaking the detective strode into the room without the slightest touch from the other. "I trust you."

Watson pulled him over to his bed. He kissed him to distract him as he removed his clothing. When he was finished he pressed the other to his pillows and pushed his clothing off the bed.

Holmes was breathing heavily, almost hyper-ventilating. Watson positioned himself on top of his lover. He began to kiss him. He started at the lips and moved downward. Holmes gasped and went rigid with shock. Watson simply continued. Holmes whimpered. Watson began to lick and Holmes was completely helpless.

When the detective was as submissive as he wanted him, the doctor rose long enough to remove his own clothing. Holmes looked up at him with feverish eyes. He stroked his forehead and climbed on top of him.

"I love you."

Holmes submitted both physically and mentally that night. He felt no desire to fight as Watson invaded his body. He simply lay under him in a position of servitude. For the first time in his life he allowed himself to be dominated and felt complete contentment while doing it. Watson was the master and he the humble servant.

For that night anyway.

Watson stretched and sat up in his bed. Holmes still lay beside him, curled at his side. He looked like a small child, except Watson knew what he was capable of. He sighed and arose. A few steps took him to his window. He gazed out at the street. Darkness still blanketed everything.

"Mmmm… John? What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Then come back to bed…"

"I get up at all sorts of ungodly hours, remember?"

"But I miss you…"

"Fine… but you have to make it worth my while…"

Holmes stretched out on his back. He looked up at Watson with adoring eyes. "I take it you enjoyed last time?"

Holmes blushed. "It was better than I ever imagined."

"Imagined? How?" Watson raised his eyebrow. Holmes turned scarlet. Watson chuckled. "Well with the way things are going, you'll never need resort to that again, my love."

Watson positioned himself over his friend's body. He decided to be even gentler than he was the time before. He slowly began with a chaste kiss on his lover's cheek. From there he moved to his neck. "I love you, I want to be with you forever… to be the only one you are ever with and you shall be the only one I shall love." Holmes shuddered and his eyes became misty.

"I love you too, and despite my limited experience, I agree. You are the only one for me and I will follow you anywhere, even to the underworld-"

"Shush!!! Don't ever speak of such things!"

"I mean it. I wouldn't be able to live without you."

"But don't say 'die'!!! It's bad luck! At least not at night!"

"Alright…"

Watson's breast felt heavy. He decided to chase that feeling away by bringing Holmes to his knees. Mentally, of course. Holmes was on his back.

Several weeks passed. Holmes now put up a feeble fight for dominance. Watson threw him no bones. If he wanted to be dominant, then he would have to work. One night the detective had been exceptionally resistant, he paid dearly. He was bedridden for two days with an apologetic Watson at his elbow.

"But really, Holmes, if there is anything I can do-"

"You can allow me the privilege of being dominant for once…"

"Other than that?"

"Nothing, really…"

Watson moved over Sherlock. "We may be unable to engage in sexual activity, but you are still able to be kissed, I assume?" He didn't wait for an answer, but pressed his lips against the others. Holmes didn't wait for Watson to demand entry into his mouth, but he forced his own tongue between the doctor's lips. He rolled over, so he was on top. His lips found the doctor's neck, as his hands found the buttons on his shirt.

Soon the doctor lay half naked before him. He paused to try and regain his breath. It was a mistake. By the time he had taken a few breaths, Watson had regained his senses. He pushed Holmes under him and pressed their lips together. Holmes tried to breathe, but was incapable of it. Watson wouldn't let go, not until Holmes's body released enough Adeline to sustain an orgasm. Holmes began to struggle. He continued kissing him. Holmes began to flail in a desperate attempt to get air into his lungs. His eyes were wide and his instincts were taking control. Watson rose.

"…Watson! … What the Hell?"

Watson unbuttoned his shirt and let his tongue roam all over his body. Holmes closed his eyes and arched his back. Watson moved down to his fly. He didn't undo it, but rather began to kiss over it on his abdomen. He kissed with intense passion and even began to bite a little. When he pulled away, there was a vivid red mark. He took a moment to admire it, and then he moved downward. Holmes whimpered. His whimpering turned into crying when Watson finished removing his clothes. He was too weak from his near suffocation to fight as his dear friend had his way with him.

In the morning, he rose and stood unclothed in front of the mirror. His wrists were healing, as he had taken no cocaine since he and the doctor became lovers. It was Watson's solemn word that if he took any, he would leave Baker Street and never speak to him again. He was looking far healthier and there was a new gleam to his eyes. There was still the red mark on his lower abdomen. Watson had marked him. He felt, somehow, that he would not, could not gain dominance until it had faded.

"He'll get it eventually…" He murmured. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to imagine what he would do to the doctor. He would dominate him, but never hurt him. He would mark him and he would wait every night for him to return so their battle for dominance could resume. 

"Wha-"

There was a hand over his mouth and the doctor kissed his neck. Holmes opened his eyes. He felt a sudden overwhelming stab of love and lust at the sight of them together in his mirror.

"Yes, we do make a rather lovely couple, don't we?"

"We do… Hey! How did you-"

"You taught me your methods… remember?"

"Alright, I did… Oh, Watson!" The doctor had begun to kiss his neck. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough to arouse the detective. "No! Not now! If Mrs. Hudson-"

"She won't be up for another two hours, at least."

"But-" It was too late. Watson led the other man to the bed. Holmes followed powerlessly and breathlessly.

More weeks passed. Since first marking Holmes, Watson noticed that he fought longer. They lingered at the base of the stairs longer and Holmes once tried to pull him to his room. The doctor had responded savagely. A few weeks after that, Holmes managed to pull Watson as far as his door. The next night he had him inside. Still, they did not stay.

A week after managing to get Watson in his room, Holmes finally managed to press him to his pillows. For the first time in their relationship as lovers, Watson was his. He savored every moment, every touch and every moan.


End file.
